


Where He Goes, You Follow

by HeartlessAngel



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessAngel/pseuds/HeartlessAngel
Summary: Noctis is a knight in shining armor.(ffxvweek: do you trust me?)





	Where He Goes, You Follow

* * *

“Do you trust me?”

It was a question so big it looked odd to hear it come from such a small person. At thirteen, Noctis still had the frame of a ten year old, as if the governess was withholding breakfast, lunch and dinner. But Gladio knew better. Sparring and winning was no longer a breeze. Noctis would soon pose a challenge, and still - Gladio sighed, eyes wide at the outstretched hand beckoning him to grab a hold - he had doubts about what the Crown Prince was offering him.

Noctis had the ungodly habit of showing up unannounced at the Amicitia Mansion. He snuck through the woods and timed the paparazzis camping across the road from the mansion to run to the back garden, and in through the staff entrance like a stray cat searching for food. Though endearing most of the times, at least for Gladio, this habit came with a risk; the risk of being caught expressing wants that fell outside the court life.

Noctis had stumbled upon such an occasion, it seemed.

Gladio had followed his father from the front garden, through the foyer, lounge and dining hall into the living room, exasperated at his father’s stubbornness.

“No one will be able to tell whether I’m at the banquet or not!” said Gladio, not far off from stomping his foot like his sister mid-tantrum.

“Irrelevant,” said Clarus. “As the heir, you must make an appearance. The others already think us enemies for our ties with the Royal Family. You are to mingle, smile and have fun.”

“Will Noctis be there?”

Clarus sighed and rolled his eyes at Gladio.

“Will he?” asked Gladio again.

“You know the policy,” Clarus began.

“Then I don’t have to be there either.”

“All this for a concert, Gladiolus?” Clarus asked in disbelief.

“They’ve never been to Insomnia before and who knows if they’ll ever get to come back...”

“If this is about a girl, Gladiolus, I swear…”

“It’s not! Please, father, let me go to the concert.”

“No, and that is final.”

And up until Gladio stood in the grand ballroom at the Citadel, dressed in a red uniform lined with golden seams, he thought his father’s word was final. He mirrored his father in each and every encounter with his peers. The courteous smiles, affirmative answers. _Like me_ , it said, _I am no foe, merely wed to my duty_. Hopefully, it would work, and he’d gain friends among the other nobility.

A waiter swooshed by Gladio. One of such small stature, Gladio could not help but take notice.

“My family has hunting grounds up north, Gladiolus, you should come with us and show us the prowess of the Shield to be,” said Sabina, eldest daughter of the Tianu family. Her father was a Senator at the Royal Council, a man who often opposed Clarus’ propositions.

The waiter pinched Gladio’s underarm where the fabric of his blazer was thinner and where Noctis had dealt a blow that almost twisted his shoulder out of its socket the day before.

The waiter wore a ludicrous mask, even more so than the others.

“Sir, follow me – unless you’re a chicken,” said the waiter in a whisper.

Gladio stared incredulously and shifted his focus from the waiter to Sabina to see whether she had heard the same, but the waiter was invisible to her. Nobility paid no attention to the servants unless necessary.

The waiter pointed to an exit and made a run for it, spilling the contents of the two glasses on his tray with infantile crocodile patterns.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” Gladio said to Sabina.

“But–”

“I’ll be right back.”

Gladio ran after the waiter, shouted after him when they were far away enough from the ballroom.

There were no guards here. A trap? Gladio’s heart raced and he didn’t stop until he realized he stood without a weapon.

“Gladio!” the waiter pulled his mask back and waved at him. “Hurry!”

“Noct?”

Gladio hurried to him.

“What are you doing? What – what is this?” Gladio watched Noctis get out of his waiter costume to reveal that he was wearing a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt with Black Doves printed on the chest.

“You might wanna change, too – you’re wearing too much red, and,” Noctis did a double take, “gold,” he finished with a chuckle.

“Noct, I don’t – what – hey, stop. Look at me and tell me what’s going on.” Gladio grabbed Noctis by his shoulders to make him stand still.

“You said you wanted to see the Black Doves,” Noctis said as if that explained everything.

“Yeah,” Gladio began, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “But I was told no.”

“I’m telling you yes. By Royal Decree, I order you, Gladio, let’s go to the concert.”

Gladio simply looked at Noctis, at the naivety in his eyes, the innocence in his smile, halted by the ease with which he made a mockery of their roles.

“C’mon,” Noctis urged him.

“It’s not funny when you do that, Noct,” said Gladio.

“I…” Noctis sighed, smile gone. ‘Sorry – it... – as a friend then. Let’s go out and have fun.”

Noctis grabbed a hold of Gladio’s arm when he turned his head as if making the decision to go back.

“We’ll spar. Every morning next week. Two hour sessions. I’ll be there. Seven sharp. Smile from ear to ear.”

“Three hours. And we’ll use heavy weaponry, with armor.”

“Sure, then we’ll go to the renaissance fair,” Noctis rolled his eyes.

“Okay,” Gladio turned again to go back, not inclined to deal with Noctis’ sarcasm.

“Wait, wait, wait! Gladio. Fine. We’ll do that.”

“What?”

“That. We’ll do that.”

“ _What_?”

Gladio cracked a smile when Noctis sighed at him.

“How were you planning on busting out of here anyway?” asked Gladio.

“Warp, of course.”

“Alright, I’m out for real.”

“Gladio!”

“You’re out of your damn mind.”

Noctis laughed and clung onto Gladio’s arm.

“Rope. We’re using rope. Getting out is the difficult part. We can just waltz back in.”

“And say what?”

“I ran away. I got scared. Called you. You came and got me.”

“Lie,” Gladio offered, crossing his arms.

“Bending the truth a little bit.”

“How do we explain our matching outfits?” Gladio asked holding up the T-shirt in the bag Noctis had given him, half-inclined to ask where Noctis had gotten his hands on merchandise. The T-shirt was exactly like Noctis’ only two sizes bigger.

“Easy. You brought civilian clothes so that no one would recognize us.”

This time, Gladio laughed. He put his arm over Noctis shoulder and brought him in close to ruffle his hair.

“You sly little devil.”

“Someone’s gotta be.”

Agreeing to the plan was the first part. Once the rope was tied to a marble pillar and hanged down the stone wall of the Citadel’s eastern tower, it all became real. One misstep and they’d fall to their deaths, both heirs to Insomnia’s most powerful families, soon to be splattered on the cobbles below.

Noctis had already gotten onto the windowsill of the large window, holding the rope in his hands. He must have seen Gladio look down and gulp at the height.

“Gladio,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?”

Noctis held his hand out to help him up. There were a hundred reasons to say no; Noctis knew about the current state of his shoulder and yet he was urging Gladio to climb down a tower, just to name one reason. A hundred reasons, but all Gladio saw at that moment was a knight in shining armor offering him repose from the life cut out for him.

“Where your King goes, you follow,” Cor always said.

And he did.


End file.
